


du lac

by daisy_chains



Series: Merlin Fics [5]
Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Episode: s04e09 Lancelot du Lac, Lancelot (Merlin) Lives, Lancelot and Freya are siblings, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-21
Updated: 2019-06-26
Packaged: 2020-01-23 04:21:08
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,057
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18542155
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/daisy_chains/pseuds/daisy_chains
Summary: When she arrives at the banks of the pool of Nemhain, it is to see Lancelot bowing to Morgana Pendragon.“I am yours to command,” he says andno. This isn’t something she’s about to let happen, not when she’sLady of the Lakeand her brother has been reduced to a shade of what he truly is.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I can't remember where I read about the idea that Lancelot & Freya were siblings, but thanks to whoever came up with that for inspiring this fic.

As Lady of the Lake, Freya has quite a few duties to fulfill. Usually, things run somewhat smoothly, leaving her time to visit with her family that have passed into the afterlife. 

“Do you remember when we raided the strawberry patch too early in the season?” Her brother asks, grinning at the ground as he loses himself to the memory. 

“And Mother chased us around the village after she ate one and figured it out?” She responds, laughing. “Of course. We hid in Agnes’ house for hours until she calmed down.” 

“That’s right, and Agnes was -” 

Freya glances over at Lancelot and frowns. His head is bowed forward, eyes squeezed shut as he rubs his chest to alleviate a pain she cannot find the source of. 

“Lancelot? What’s wrong?” 

“I don’t -” He cuts off with a wheeze, falling onto his knees. “It’s like someone trying to tear my heart from my chest.” 

As she kneels beside him, Freya reaches out with her magic. It circles around him, prodding hesitantly as it senses a foreign presence.

“That’s not right,” she says lowly. “Lancelot, can you -”

He disappears. 

“Alright, no. Who do I need to kill?” 

Fortunately, the magic that ensnared her brother lingers still, so it does not take long to find the source of the magic.

“Morgana,” she growls, following the magic’s trail back to the pool of Nemhain. “I should’ve guessed. Can’t keep your problems on one side of the veil, can you? Simply _must_ drag the afterlife into it, too. Between the Samhain disaster and this, you’re going to be on everyone’s bad side.”

⁋

When she arrives, it is to see Lancelot, naked as the day he was born, bowing to Morgana Pendragon on the banks of the pool of Nemhain.

“I am yours to command,” he says and again, _no_. This isn’t something she’s about to let happen, not when she’s _Lady of the Lake_ and her brother has been reduced to a shade of what he truly is. 

“Sorry to interrupt,” Freya says, stalking toward the two. “However, I’m going to have to ask that you return Lancelot to where he should be.”

“And who are you?” Morgana demands, spinning around with her arms raised defensively. 

“The Lady of the Lake. And him? He’s my brother. So I suggest you back down before you start a fight with someone you cannot best.”

Morgana doesn’t respond, but her gaze narrows and a sneer dances across her face. There is no chance this will end without a fight, and for that fact, Freya mourns what she must do. 

“I respect your drive, my lady, and your initial motive. But now? I have few qualms with stepping in and sending you to the afterlife prematurely. So please, walk away.” 

“I will not.” And there's more Morgana wishes to say, Freya can see it in the aborted shake of her head, but she does not speak.

“Very well.” 

As Freya wades into the pool, magic leaping to defend the Gateway, to heal the cracks formed by the dark magic Morgana has cast, there are no words for the spell in mind. 

_Is this how Merlin feels_? She wonders, the memory of candle flames floating through the air resurfacing. It is a heady sensation, magic flowing through one's veins with only intent to guide it. 

Then Morgana takes a step forward, water splashing quietly around her, and the moment is lost. 

Freya shoves a hand out in front of her and waves it to the side, away from where her brother stands, watching warily and grasping at his side for a weapon that isn't there. Morgana is thrown out of the water with a choked off scream. She lands with a thud and rolls a few paces further. 

The woman doesn't rise, hardly moves at all as Freya approaches. Even when she kneels beside her, places a hand on her shoulder, Morgana does not react except to shudder violently. 

Perhaps there was more behind the magic beyond physically shoving Morgana away. There’s no way to be sure, and even if there was, she doubts she’d wish to know.

“My lady,” Freya whispers, “you have fallen far. I do not wish to cause you further grief, but you have harmed the ones I love tenfold the harm they have caused you. Walk away. This is your last chance.” 

A moment passes, then two. Eventually, Morgana rolls away from Freya and staggers to her feet. She does not meet her gaze as she teleports away. 

‘ _Thank you_ ,’ Freya whispers, though she is unsure if the weak message reaches its intended target. 

Behind her, she can sense Lancelot shuffling in the water. Uncertain of what to do with his mistress gone, she is sure. 

“Lancelot,” she says, rising to her feet and turning to him. “Come here, would you?” 

It’s not as if she expects him to, really, so when he staggers forward, Freya finds herself taking a step back. 

He glances around as he approaches her, and he looks so lost her heart aches. Eventually, he comes to a stop before her, not quite meeting her gaze. Her magic reaches out again, circling around Morgana’s. Freya takes his hands in hers, ignoring how he flinches.

“âstyrfanðætte clamm of hê to sê dôm Morgana Pendragon.” 

Lancelot falls to his knees, hands pressed to the sides of his face, and Freya drops down beside him, hands reaching out but not quite touching him. 

“It’ll be alright,” she says as the spell finishes. He falls forward, unconscious, into her ready arms.

⁋

“Merlin.” 

The servant startles, dropping the gauntlet he’s polishing. Out of the corner of his eye, he sees Freya sit on the bench beside him. 

“Freya? I wasn’t expecting a visit anytime soon, is something wrong?” 

“Well,” she says, glancing behind her, “I wouldn’t say _wrong_.” 

Merlin’s brow furrows, a question on his lips then -

“Hello, Merlin.” 

He freezes, wide eyes locked on Freya’s. Hope wells up in his chest, threatening to choke him, but he cannot bring himself to turn to the ghost behind him. 

“It’s Lancelot,” Freya says, eyes softening from their amusement to understanding. “No tricks, no illusions. He’s _here_ , Merlin. Just look.”

Maybe it’s because it’s Freya, the woman he trusts more than anyone else even after their brief romance faded, or maybe it’s simply because Merlin doesn’t have the strength to deny himself one more glance at the man he struggles to live without, despite the time that has passed. 

He looks. 

Lancelot stands in peasant’s clothes, rubbing his hands against his trousers lightly. Unsure of what to do, Merlin realizes. Merlin isn’t quite sure what to do himself. 

“It’s been a while,” he says, though that isn’t at all what he wants to say, what he needs to say. 

“So it has.” Lance glances at his sister, hesitating. 

“I’ll stand guard,” she says, rising from the bench as an illusion of a knight replaces her, and exits. The door shuts behind her with a quiet _click_ , though to him it is as loud as a dragon’s roar. 

Merlin flounders, glancing around the room before jumping out of his seat. 

“Um…” For all he wished he could see Lance again, imagined such a scene in his head, he never entertained the possibility of it actually happening. “Hi.”

Lance grins, then, and shakes his head. “We are hopeless. No wonder Freya dragged me here instead of back to Avalon.”

“Back to -”

Before he can finish his sentence, Lance spreads his arms for a hug and Merlin falls straight into them. 

“I missed you,” he says, words muffled by Lance’s shoulder. “I’m so sorry.”

“No apologizing, Merlin. Not today.” 

There isn’t anything else to say, not now, so they stand in silence, taking comfort from each other’s presence. When Freya reenters, she wraps her arms around both men and whispers a farewell and a warning of approaching knights. 

“I should leave now,” she says as the three of them separate, “but make sure you visit me.”

“Or else?” Lance asks, a ghost of a grin on his lips. 

“Or else.” 

Laughter rings out from the other side of the door, footsteps slowly coming into hearing. Merlin frowns at the door, wishing for more time. 

“How are we meant to explain Lancelot’s sudden return from the dead?” 

“Oh, I’m sure you’ll figure something out.” 

The door creaks open, drawing Lance and Merlin’s attention away from the Lady. By the time they glance back at where Freya stood, she’s gone. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Spell loosely translates to "Break that which chains him to the will of Morgana Pendragon." And I know the spell isn't capitalized as it should be but ao3 isn't letting the uppercase version of that letter show up? Idk. It is what it is I guess.
> 
> I have... a vague idea for a fic focusing on Freya & Morgana that comes after this but I'm not sure I'll be writing that anytime soon.
> 
> Oh and also, I'm pretty sure Merlin does use a spell in the candle scene Freya refers to, but for the sake of the fic I'm pretending that's not the case because I've already said screw canon enough already so what's once more yknow?


	2. Chapter 2

A frantic _how are we meant to explain this_ rolls through Merlin’s mind, and he grabs Lancelot’s hand in an effort to remain calm as he meets the shocked stares of Sirs Gwaine and Percival. 

“Um,” he begins, not sure of where he’s planning to go with this. He hesitates, clears his throat.

Gwaine blinks. Once, twice. Then, he turns to Percival, checking that it isn’t just him seeing a dead man standing before him. Percival, for his part, has yet to cease his own staring. 

“Hello,” Lancelot says with a small, wary smile. He spares a glance at the swords at the knights’ hips, before taking a slow step forward. “It’s been a while.” 

That, more than anything, startles the knights into action. Gwaine splutters, echoing Lance’s words in disbelief while Percival looks to Merlin. 

“This is real?” He asks softly. Merlin startles, not having expected to be addressed, and takes a moment to process the knight’s question. 

He nods, a smile creeping across his face as his eyes begin to burn because _it’s real, it’s real, he’s here, he’s actually here_. 

That’s all it takes for Percival to stumble forward and pull Lance into a bone-crushing hug. 

“It’s been too long.” 

As the two embrace, Gwaine comes to stand beside Merlin, watching Lance as if the man will disappear if he dares to glance away for even a moment. 

“How?” He asks, voice almost inaudible. 

Merlin shakes his head, releasing a shaky sigh. In place of an answer, he says, “later.”

Later, after his own shock has faded enough for him to come up with an excuse. 

Gwaine frowns, unsatisfied, but accepts his response nonetheless. He moves toward Lancelot as Percival releases him and pulls him into a hug of his own. 

⁋

“So, tell us, Lancelot,” Arthur says, seated at the table in his chambers where the Round Table knights, as well as Merlin and Gwen, have crowded around for a shared meal. A “ _welcome back feast_ ,” Gwen had called it. 

The table falls into a hush, the previous small talk and dancing around certain topics deserted as the King speaks. 

“How are you here?” 

“Well,” Lance begins, shooting a glance at Merlin. It’s one Merlin had grown familiar in the year after taking back Camelot when the knight showed his prowess at shifting any suspicion away from himself when a prank seemed a bit out of Gwaine and Percival’s normal range. “The Cailleach released me.”

 _What_. 

“Apparently, my life was required in order to heal the veil, but after the veil was fully restored, I was free to go.” Around the table, several heads nod in understanding. Merlin wishes he were one of them, instead of pushing back awe at Lance’s ease in spinning a believable lie. “When I was released, I appeared here, where Merlin was.” 

“Why Merlin?” Gwaine asks, brow furrowed. “Why not where the veil is? Or where we burnt a pyre for you?” 

Here, Lance hesitates, shooting Merlin another glance. “I was released to the last person to see me alive.” 

Oh. Merlin decides the dent in the table in front of him is _quite_ intriguing. It’s easier to focus on his memory of how the dent came to be than the side glances cast his way or the stifling silence that falls at Lance’s words. 

Beneath the table, a foot brushes against his. He glances across the table to meet Lance’s apologetic grin and nods. 

“At least it meant I got to see him first. Between Percival and Gwaine, he’d have been sick of hugs by the time I got to him otherwise.” 

Laughter replaces the silence from before, and Merlin settles into his seat, allowing the noise to drown the pain of that reminder. There will be time to deal with that later, and with Lancelot there to help him through it. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so apparently marking things as complete then randomly adding a chapter is becoming a habit and yknow what I am not a fan


End file.
